


It's the Thought that Counts

by TheDarknessFactor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce appreciates it, But she really tries, F/M, Natasha can't cook, There was a dragon involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarknessFactor/pseuds/TheDarknessFactor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha stress-cooks.  She's never claimed to be good at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's the Thought that Counts

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt: "Bruce is exhausted after hulking out in a mission, the only thing Natasha can think of is making him A LOT of food, bruce tried to be nice when Natasha turned out to be a bad cook, but..."
> 
> This one was honestly a lot more fun than I expected. Also prepare for cavities. And DRAGONS.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s not that the upholstery isn’t nice to look at.  It’s just that it’s smushed against his face, and he’d rather be able to breathe more freely.  

Bruce rolls over with a groan, now staring at a white ceiling.  He blinks, trying to figure out where he is; just turning his head is exhausting, but he manages it and spies a lamp in the corner of the room.  His apartment in Avengers Tower, then.

Someone curses.  Is that coming from the kitchen?

“Hello?” he calls.  His voice comes out slurred.

There are footsteps, and then red enters his vision.

“Hey,” says Natasha.  “Look alive, sunshine.  I made dinner.”

Bruce blinks.  Of all the things he expected to hear… “You.”  He points at her before letting his arm flop back to his side.  “Made dinner.”

“Yep.”

_I have never in my life heard of you cooking,_  he wants to say, but she actually looks kind of… pained?  Hopeful?  He’s not really sure, but it’s enough to stop him from being any more sarcastic.  

“’Kay,” he says.  “What is it?”

Natasha disappears from his line of sight again, making some alarming noises in the kitchen before reappearing with a bowl of what looked like pasta.  Bruce eyes it somewhat dubiously, but he has a feeling that she really tried with this one, and he’s found that among the expressions Natasha has stashed away she has a pretty damn effective puppy dog face somewhere in there.

“Thanks,” he croaks, somehow sitting up and taking the bowl.  Instead of sitting next to him like she usually does, she sits across from him, twisting her hands anxiously.

Okay.  This is weird.  She’s rarely, if ever, this nervous around him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.  

“What?”  She blinks at him.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  Why d’you ask?”

“You seem… bothered.”

“Yeah, well…”  Natasha sags a bit, now giving him a wry look, which makes him relax too.  “It’s not every day that you watch the Hulk get thrown half a mile away by a goddamn dragon.”

He feels both eyebrows climb into his hair.  “That happened?”

“Yup.  Believe me, it’s just as surreal for the rest of us.  Because, y’know.  Dragons.”

He wonders how the Hulk took to  _that_  encounter.  Probably not very well.  He takes a bite of the pasta and just barely fights off a grimace; Natasha means well, but there’s a reason why he usually cooks for the two of them.  If she went this far, it means she’s seriously worried.  She’s watching him with the strained look on her face again.

“Now you know how I feel whenever you end up in the infirmary,” he tells her softly, smiling a bit.  He eats more of her pasta; as bad as it is, food is food, and he’s hungry enough not to care.  It’s no wonder he feels like moving his finger is the equivalent of running a 5K; getting thrown around by a dragon will do that to you.

“What happened to the dragon?” he asks.

“Thor took it back to its home planet.”

Bruce dutifully finishes his pasta; the moment he does, Natasha gets up and curls up next to him, her body heat soothing him back to a state of unconsciousness.  He does enjoy this part of post-transformations.

“You’re gonna put me back to sleep,” he mumbles.

“Mmm.  Good.”

“You’re warm.”

“You’re slap-happy.  Don’t worry, by the way - I’ll be sure to order mounds of takeout for when you wake up again.”

Bruce laughs.  Of course she knew.  “I appreciate the thought, Natasha.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  Natasha scoots back against the couch arm, pulling him with her so that he’s propped up against her.  “Ugh.  You’re making me sappy, Banner.  Quit it.”

He smiles, says, “No promises,” and falls back asleep.


End file.
